


Wrath of an Angel

by Demerite



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, Hate Sex - sort of, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demerite/pseuds/Demerite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire won’t shut up. All through the meeting he’s been making snide comments, laughing at their passionate ideas and generally being a pain in the neck. It’s distracting, not to mention rude, and Enjolras is tired of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrath of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally painstakingly typed out on my phone and sent (in little bits because SMS size limits) to one of my friends because I was bored. This is a (hopefully better) rewrite. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Grantaire won’t shut up. All through the meeting he’s been making snide comments, laughing at their passionate ideas and generally being a pain in the neck. It’s distracting, not to mention rude, and Enjolras is tired of it. 

As soon as the meeting is over and the others begin to leave, Enjolras makes his play. 

“Grantaire,” he summons the other man in a voice laden with command, “A word?” He doesn’t look up from the papers on which he is writing until he knows Grantaire is waiting in front of him, and then he leaves him standing there for a few moments longer, because in his mind, Grantaire deserves to wait. When he does look up, he notes the slight look of surprise on Grantaire’s face, and he reins in his irritation. 

Grantaire smiles a little lopsidedly, “What can I do to appease you, Apollo?” he asks, his tone and the manner in which he says the endearment utterly serious. 

“You know exactly what it is that you have been doing wrong.” Enjolras bites out, barely containing his annoyance. 

Grantaire just shrugs absently, a if he couldn’t care less. Inside, he feels guilty, he knows his actions annoy Enjolras but he has no other way to disguise his true emotions. At least this way, when he torments Enjolras at the meetings, he has the full force of the other man’s passion - even if it is only anger - turned on him

Enjolras gets to his feet, rounding the table and taking a measured step forwards, placing him solidly in Grantaire’s space. This close, Grantaire feels as if he is drowning, and is unable to step away, is unable to pull his gaze from Enjolras’. 

Enjolras’ voice, pulled this over his anger, shatters the moment. “Why do you even come to the meetings?” Enjolras snaps, and Grantaire’s heart gives a little leap when Enjolras says ‘the meetings’ and not ‘out meetings’. He has not been excluded fully yet; there is still some hope. “You do not care for the cause as the others do,” Enjolras continues, “All you ever do is drown yourself in drink and mock us at every turn. Why do you bother?” 

Grantaire ducks his head, hunching his shoulders as though if he pulls himself inwards enough, he will eventually vanish. “So I may catch a fleeting glimpse of the sun.” he says softly, steeling himself for Enjolras to strike him, with words or fists or both. Enjolras stands, as if frozen and Grantaire feels hope surge inside him. Maybe tonight he can make the other man see some sense, before it is too late. 

“You know as well as I do.” Grantaire continues, throwing caution to the winds, “The cause is all but lost.” 

Enjolras visibly twitches, as if something inside him has snapped. He takes another step forward, shoving Grantaire back against the cafe wall and snarls in his face, “Never say that to me again.” 

Grantaire laughs bitterly, “I speak the truth,” he retorts, “As you are well aware.” 

Enjolras shoves him again, even though Grantaire is already pressed hard against the wall. Grantaire makes no move to stop him. For a moment, the two young men faces one another, as visually and spiritually different as night and day, and then Grantaire leans towards Enjolras and captures his lips in a vicious, biting kiss. 

It isn’t a tidy kiss; they’re both too angry for there to be any sort of finesse to it. Enjolras is furious because Grantaire has had the audacity to insult the cause, and Grantaire is raging because this isn’t meant to be happening, he isn’t good enough for Enjolras ; he doesn’t in any way deserve this. But Enjolras has a hand tighter in his hair and they are kissing each other in a manner that can only be described as violent. Grantaire will anger at himself another time - he has more immediate concerns. 

Enjolras bites his lip especially hard, and Grantaire moans unashamedly into his mouth, using all his strength not devoted to staying upright to wrap his arms around Enjolras and pull him impossibly closer. Despite how dominating his kiss is, Enjolras is practically whimpering into the kiss and Grantaire can feel how hard the other man is against him. Grantaire is struck by the irony, fro a man who insists that he lacks the base needs and wants of other men, Enjolras is plainly the opposite as he presses against Grantaire. Grantaire who desperately want to drop down to his knees, and pleasure Enjolras from there, but he knows that Enjolras will not allow it; will not allow another man to kneel, to be below him, in the pursuit of his own pleasure. Enjolras will only allow this is they do not acknowledge what they are doing. 

So Grantaire doesn’t say anything, he just slide a leg in between Enjolras’ and kisses his harder to swallow the noises he makes; small whimpers, bitten-off moans and unintentional gasps. Enjolras’ hand remains tangled in Grantaire’s hair, tugging a little. His other hand is pressed flat against the wall, fingers spread. Grantaire’s arms are tighter around Enjolras’ waist, and he kisses the other man like they are drowning, and their kiss is the only thing that can save them. 

Enjolras bites Grantaire when he comes, drawing a drop of hot blood from his lower lip. The slight pain, the physical stimulation and the wreaked gasp that Enjolras gives as he shakes apart in his arms are collectively enough to push Grantaire over the edge too, gasping out his own orgasm against Enjolras’ shoulder. 

They stand there for a moment, foreheads touching as their ragged breathing and rushed heartbeats return to something approaching normal. Grantaire’s eyes are closed, and when he opens them, Enjolras’ blue eyes flash with something akin to fear. 

Abruptly, the man withdraws his hand from Grantaire’s hair and is gone, his footsteps resounding on the cafe stairs. 

Grantaire sinks down against the wall, his legs still shaking a little. He stares around for a moment, then reaches for a half-empty bottle. He uncorks it with his teeth, spits the cork away and takes a long swallow. 

Even with the heavy taste of wine of his tongue, Grantaire can still taste Enjolras’ kiss on his lips.


End file.
